Treacherous
by emilycharl0tte
Summary: Quinn Fabray. You might've heard of her; founder of Fabray Cosmetics, insanely wealthy and beautiful. She's also dealing with a bunch of unwanted feelings. Santana Lopez. You probably have no idea who she is. She's an aspiring author, waiting for her big break. Two different lives, worlds apart in status. But then again, sometimes people just click.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello guys! Here's a new multi-chapter Quinntana fic for you all! This is about Quinn first, the second chapter will be about Santana! Enjoy and review, please!**

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When Quinn Fabray was 6 years old, her parents, Russell and Judy, took her to the zoo. Cincinnati Zoo, to be exact. Being a young, energetic girl, Quinn was determined to see every animal they had to show. She started at the reptiles, then moved on to the birds, and amphibians before getting to the mammal section. Just as she was about to walk up to the cheetah exhibit, her father clapped a hand over her eyes, and her mother tugged her toward her.

"Mommy! Daddy! Please, I want to see the cheetah!" Quinn cried out in protest, her hands making little grabby motions toward the general direction of the exhibit. Her mother shrieked in horror suddenly and pulled Quinn away completely, making her walk quickly until they reached the café.

"But, mom…" Quinn stamped her feet, ready to burst into full-blown tantrum. Her father crouched down (her mother remained standing up straight, as to not ruin her perfect, designer dress) and rested one beefy hand on her shoulder.

"Listen here, Q." Russell began, speaking softly and slowly as if his daughter were an imbecile (just to clarify; she most definitely wasn't). "There are some things in this world that should not be displayed in public. What your mother and I saw back there," Russell jerked his thumb back. "Was one of those things. We're just protecting you."

"What was it?" Quinn asked excitedly, bouncing up and down on her heels. Russell sighed in exasperation and Judy glared at her.

"See, Russell? I _told _you she'd want to know." She snapped, turning on her heel. Quinn watched her mother storm off, as graceful as ever, to the lady's toilets.

"It was…" Russell thought, wondering how to word it. "Two ladies…together…kissing." He practically shuddered in disgust, but the confused look on Quinn's face stayed. She raised one eyebrow, as if to prompt him to elaborate. Again, her father sighed, rubbing his temple with two fingers.

"Okay, you know those awful Disney films you love so much? What happens in the end of each of them?"

"The beautiful lady marries the handsome man." Quinn stated, nodding vigorously.

"Exactly. Quinnie, you live by those films. You recite every damn phrase from it. So, basically, I want you to live like one of those beautiful ladies. Be classy, find a handsome, rich man and _never _become like one of those ladies back in the mammal section." Russell waited to hear Quinn's response. The short, skinny blonde nodded, blinking slowly.

"'Kay. Can I have some ice cream now?"

* * *

By the time Quinn was 16, she had abided by her father's rules about living like one of the beautiful ladies in the Disney films. She was classy, never wearing a skirt too short, aside from her coveted cheerleading skirt. She found a handsome man, Finn Hudson, who, although was not rich yet, would be one day. She just knew it. And she had, as of yet, not become like one of those ladies in the mammal section. She never looked at a girl too closely. In fact, she made sure she kept away from them as much as possible. She saw every girl as an enemy, even though she _knew_ they'd never be as classy, popular or pretty as she was. But it was better to be safe than to be sorry. So, at lunchtimes, instead of hanging around with the rest of the Cheerios at the 'popular table' in the cafeteria, she studied in the library. She'd flick through endless textbooks, making notes as necessary. If she wasn't as popular as she was, she knew she'd get flack for it. But no one dared make any insulting comment toward her; otherwise she _would _destroy them, no doubt about it.

Quinn was living the dream. She had everything any high school girl wanted. The girls wanted to be her, the guys wanted to be _on _her, which always proved a problem. Being a teenage guy, Finn often made a grab for her breast, or tried to redirect her hand to his crotch. She remained vigilant, never letting Finn get too far with her. She knew if she went too far, she would never come back. Finn just needed training, like a puppy. Never give in. Whenever she felt like letting him do whatever to her, her famous Celibacy Club motto flashed through her mind in bold, red letters; "It's all about the teasing, and not about the pleasing." She'd immediately stop, straighten out her uniform and exit, leaving Finn with an awkward boner and a dumb expression on his face. Quinn _loved _it.

Quinn's parents were as pious as ever, attending church every Sunday with their 'perfect' daughter in tow. Russell and Judy were both admired and feared by their fellow churchgoers. Everyone watched the Fabray enter, every Sunday, with a mixture of pure terror and pure awe. The daughters, however, were insanely jealous of Quinn Fabray. They wanted to be like her; popular, beautiful, smart and _just plain perfect_. The parents wanted to be like, and be liked by, Russell and Judy. They were the 'celebrities' of the church, always looked up to, and never looked down on.

Like I said, Quinn Fabray led a perfect life. She was on honor roll, as well, obviously going to go far in life. Her parents hoped she would go to Yale, or Harvard, an Ivy League like her father did. Quinn dreamt of owning her own cosmetics company. Even though she was naturally flawless (and damn, did she know it) she was a great lover of makeup, spending hours in her room experimenting with different shades of lipstick, eye shadow and blush.

And go to Yale she did. She got an early acceptance, much to the delight of her parents. She studied Management, as she still had her heart on setting up Fabray Cosmetics. With the help of her daddy (and his fat wad of money) she graduated Yale and moved to the big city, New York. She quickly set up a small business, Fabray Cosmetics, selling cute yet affordable makeup must-haves.

It wasn't long before Fabray Cosmetics became a worldwide phenomenon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait, and sorry for the shortness of this chapter. Next few chapters will be longer and quicker to be updated, I promise! **

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Santana Lopez had lived in New York her whole life. She lived in a small, 2-bedroom apartment with her parents, a hard-working-but-down-on-his-luck doctor, and a librarian. To say her life was easy would be an overstatement. They weren't excessively poor, but they certainly weren't breezing by in life. There were struggles, and a few times when they had to cut down on food and clothing, just to pay the bills each month. Her parents were out from 7am till 11pm each weekday, trying as hard as possible to make ends meet. Because of that, Santana grew up very introverted, choosing to speak as little as possible. To fill the void of emptiness, she wrote. She wrote daily, scribbling page after page of scribbly writing. She created characters, endless characters, characters she'd like to be friends with. She created stories to help escape from her sad, lonely reality.

To say Santana had a gift with words would've been an understatement, a _huge _understatement. She could make the oddest of sentences flow together, carefully choosing the perfect word from her large vocabulary. And lets not forget, she started writing at the age of 8. She was talented, but unfortunately her parents had no idea, seeing as they had little time to spend quality time with their only daughter.

By the time Santana was 15, she was writing full-length books, written in such a way that would've made any older, published author weep. The storylines were heart wrenching, they made you sob, and then laugh, then smile, before delving back into sadness. They were perfectly balanced, the characters exquisitely detailed. Santana's gift for words was well beyond her tender years.

It was obvious, from a very early age, that Santana was destined to be an author, publishing endless books that all rocketed to the top of the New York Time's Bestseller List. She was certain to be making millions easily by the time she was 25, a global phenomenon with a huge fanbase. That was Santana's dream; all she wanted to do was do what she loved, and make her parents proud. She wanted to make sure they never had another worry about money, and bills, and mortgages. She just wanted to give them the easy, comfortable lifestyle they so deserved.

Unfortunately, although her home life was relaxing, albeit lonely, her school life was total opposite. Being such a withdrawn, shy person, Santana often got bullied. She got words thrown at her everyday, words like 'freak', 'emo', 'weirdo'. They hurt, but she was determined to never, ever cry in front of them. Seeing as she had no friends, she had no one to stick up for her. She knew she should've told an older, responsible adult but she was too shy to tell a teacher, and she really didn't want to make her parent's lives any worse but adding _more _worries onto their plate, which was full enough. Santana struggled through school life, determined to get out of there and make a name for herself.

When she graduated, no one was there to congratulate her. Her parents were working_, again. _Now she was off to college or wherever, they had to work twice as hard just to fund the fees. It hurt, seeing all the other people rushing up to their moms, dads, siblings, whatever. She had no way of getting home either, so she had to walk in the rain, which was pelting it down by then. Her hair and clothes were soaked by then, and she was chilled to the bone. All she wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep, sleep forever. But she had to clean the house and make dinner first. So all Santana could do was cry whilst she was making the beds, her vision blurred until the sheets were soaked with salty tears.

In the fall, Santana started at Cornell University, studying English. Seeing as she wanted to be an author, she figured the best way to develop her (already amazing) skills was to enroll at a top university and study her favourite subject. She graduated top of her class 3 years later. She had spent every waking hour of her time studying and writing. She didn't have any money to go out drinking at night, so making friends was hard. She had to live at home as well, as the room fees were too much for her parents. But she had achieved one thing, she had thought when her parents finally saw her graduate. She had made her parents proud. And she hoped she could make them even prouder as the years went by.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey everyone! Thanks for all the reviews, favourites and follows, they're much appreciated. Hope you enjoy this chapter! Please review x**

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"Miss Fabray?" A timid knock on the door jolted Quinn out of her daydream. She didn't often daydream, she was far too busy for that, but sometimes the lives of the people on the ground were far more interesting than the stack of paperwork on her desk. She looked up in surprise, brushing a strand of hair back. She regarded the anxious-looking young woman stood by her office door, and raised one eyebrow.

"Yes, Stephanie?"

"Paperwork." Stephanie replied, looking down as she crossed the room to place the stack of crisp sheets on her desk. Quinn forced a smile, thanking her politely. However, as soon as Stephanie was out of her office, she groaned out loud and let her head fall into her hands.

"Mmmm," She whined, her sounds muffled by her hands. She sighed deeply and sat up, balling up her hands and rubbing her eyes with them till she saw red stars. She loved her job, don't get me wrong, she adored it. Simply adored it. It was the reason she got up in the morning. She literally _breathed _Fabray Cosmetics. But lately, she hadn't gotten more and more bored of sitting in her same old office, doing the same old things, drinking the same old caramel macchiato from the same old Starbucks just down the street. It didn't help that she hadn't got laid for six months.

"Stephanie?" Quinn spoke clearly into the intercom sat on her desk. "Can you come to my office quickly?"

Maybe Quinn couldn't spice up her boring day-to-day life, but she could at least get Stephanie to find her a goddamn man to date. This was New York City, for God's sake, finding a handsome, wealthy, successful man shouldn't be too hard, right?

* * *

"Okay, listen, even the greatest authors, Dickens, Shakespeare, Twain, didn't immediately sit down and write a full length novel, complete with complex yet loveable characters and engaging plots. They all needed inspiration, and, frankly, Santana, that is what you are lacking." Rachel emphasized the last few words with a sharp jab to Santana's shoulder. Santana sighed dramatically and flopped into a lying position. At the moment, they were both sat on Santana's double bed, Rachel at the headboard, Santana at the foot, with the taller girl's laptop sat waiting between them.

"Well, how do I get inspired, huh? I mean, I'm in the big city, for crying out loud, and I can't even _start _this book." Santana exclaimed, frowning at Rachel through her dark hair. Rachel tutted, stood up, and dragged Santana to her feet. At first the miserable girl protested but she let herself be guided by Rachel.

"Where are we going?" She mumbled as her friend pulled her coat on for her.

"Not we. _You_. You never get out anymore; you just sit in your bed, waiting for a sudden strike of inspiration to hit you. Well, Santana, I've got news for you. You're never going to finish a chapter, never mind a best selling novel, if you stay cooped up all day. Now _go_." Rachel pushed Santana out of the apartment firmly, and stood, guarding the door. Santana grumbled and buttoned her coat up.

"Rachel Berry, I swear to God, it is minus fifteen degrees out there, let me in."

"Stop being so overdramatic. You're giving me a bad name." Rachel chided, slipping inside and shutting the door. She still stood by it, looking through the keyhole.

"Where do I go?" Santana asked after a while, huffing in annoyance.

"Anywhere. Go explore. Like you said, this is the big city, so you won't run out of places to go. Just keep your phone on at all times, and don't wander too far. Oh! And be home by 8pm sharp, I'm cooking for you."

_When did Rachel morph into the constantly nagging mother I never had? _Santana thought to herself as she trudged down the endless stairs. She braced herself for the cold, before pushing through the doors, grimacing as a cold blast of icy wind slapped her in the face. She wrapped her arms around herself and walked determinedly, even though she had no idea where she was headed.

Before she knew it, her feet had blindly got her to Central Park. In all her years of living in New York, she had only been there once before. Then again, she only moved to Manhattan after graduating from Cornell.

"Stupid Rachel making me leave my lovely warm apartment…" Santana muttered under her breath as she flopped down onto the closest bench she could find. She breathed out, a large cloud of fog escaping her lips and drifting into the freezing afternoon air. "How the fuck am I meant to be inspired by this?"

"You don't think it's beautiful?" A voice suddenly piped up and Santana whipped round, clutching her chest to calm her racing heart. She was met with the sight of a blonde girl, about an inch taller than herself. Her eyes were what stunned her though. They were hazel, light yet dark at the same time. In one word, she was stunning.

"Of course I do," Santana replied, nodding slightly. "It's just…it's not very _inspiring, _you know? It's very pretty, a great tourist spot. But…there's no excitement. It's just a very large, pretty park, in short." She shrugged as she finished her explanation, watching the girl sat down next to her.

"Sorry. I hope you don't mind if I sit here. It's been a long day." The blonde smiled warmly at Santana, crossing her legs elegantly. Santana shrugged again, the corners of her mouth upturning slightly.  
"Hey…I know you, don't I?" Santana suddenly said, pointing at the girl, her eyes narrowed as she studied her face. She did recognize her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on where she had seen her before.

"Maybe you have." The stranger smirked in such a way that Santana knew she had definitely seen her before. She was hiding something.

"I'm Quinn, by the way."

"Santana. You have a last name, Quinn?"

Quinn chuckled, looking away to stare out at the passing people. "Maybe I do. But my last name doesn't matter. It's just a name. It's not me." She looked back at Santana, blinking slowly before continuing. "A last name doesn't define a person. Neither does sexuality, or fashion sense, or who that person hangs out with. What counts is the inside. The personality, the _character_, of the person." Quinn shrugged, her smile lopsided. "I don't know."

Santana giggled, looking down at her boots. She swung her legs back and forth, absentmindedly scratching the bench with one of her nails.

"I better go." Quinn sighed, standing up and smoothing out her (already creaseless) dress. "Maybe I'll see you again." She smirked again, before turning on her heel and practically _gliding_. She only paused to turn and wave one last time before she disappeared.

And that's when Santana was suddenly hit, smack bang in the face, by inspiration.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey! Thanks for all the follows, favourites and reviews. Here's a longer chapter for everyone! Please review, I love feedback!**

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"Miss Fabray?" Stephanie was back. Two days had passed since Quinn's encounter with Santana in Central Park, and her assistant had not yet found her a suitable man. "I think I found the perfect man." Quinn's head shot up, and she slowly pulled off her reading glasses, beckoning the young woman over. Stephanie crossed the room, hugging a purple binder to her chest, which she placed on Quinn's desk, careful not to spill her piping hot macchiato. The blonde opened the binder, flipping a few sheets over, before getting to the 'perfect man' Stephanie had mentioned previously.

However, as Quinn studied the man's face, she realized how familiar he looked…then she realized. All the colour drained from her face, and she looked up, her eyes wide.

"Finn Hudson?" She breathed, not truly believing it. Stephanie nodded eagerly, pointing to Finn's description.

"Yes! He's a successful banker, excessively wealthy, good friends with fashion designer Kurt Hummel. You wore one of his dresses to London Fashion Week last year, remember?"

"Oh, I remember," Quinn replied dreamily, thinking back. Kurt had an eye for fashion, and his designs were _to die for_. "Hmm. Fine. I'll meet with Finn Hudson today, and if not today, then tomorrow."

Stephanie stammered a few times before nodding, picking up her binder and exiting, only pausing by the door to ask a quick question.

"What if he's not free today or tomorrow?"

Quinn fixed her with a sweet, slightly patronizing smile.

"Oh, sweetie. It's me. Of course he'll be free."

* * *

Rachel didn't even bother calling Santana in advance to let her know she was coming over. They had fallen into a certain rhythm since becoming best friends. They had met at a small coffee shop, just a few blocks from Santana's apartment. Even though a Starbucks was right around the corner, she refused to go there, stating it was 'full of hipsters taking black and white photos of their coffee on their white iPhones'. She was right, of course, and that was the exact reason Rachel refused to go into a Starbucks. They had bonded over that, and ever since, they had been like sisters.

"How's the novel going?" She asked, settling down on the bed next to Santana. Santana sighed, tapping the laptop with one nail.

"It's alright. I did have some inspiration when I went to Central Park," Rachel beamed at that. "_But_, now it's all dried out. I can't move the plot along. I've got the general gist of it down, but it's hard to develop plot ideas and characters and relationships, you know?"

"Well, actually I don't know because I don't write, I sing and act on a stage," Rachel stated matter-of-factly, but smiled warmly at Santana, who rolled her eyes fondly. "But, you know, if everything you've already done was inspired by one event or place or person, go out and get inspired by whatever inspired and _motivated _you in the first place."

Santana chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully for a few moments, mulling the suggestion over. It was a good idea, but that was no surprise, Rachel was full of them. But it was freezing outside, and she didn't even know how to find that Quinn girl. She didn't even know her last name, which was one of the main downfalls.

"Fine," Santana mumbled, pushing her laptop off of her and onto the bed. She leapt up, stretching and sighing. "But don't come to my funeral if I die of pneumonia." She joked, leaving the room.

"I won't!" Rachel called back in a singsong voice and giggled to herself. Rachel did love her best friend, in fact, she loved her indescribable amounts. She just wished Santana was a bit more motivated, like herself. Rachel worked hard for what she wanted, she practiced her singing, dancing and acting daily, took great care of her voice and body and made sure never to stress herself out too much. Santana, however, was the complete opposite. She wanted to be a best selling author, but she lacked the drive that Rachel had running through her veins. Rachel would do whatever it took to get Santana to the top of the bestseller list. That's what best friends were for, right?

* * *

To say Quinn was nervous was an understatement.

Her stomach was in knots, heart thudding, and blood pounding in her ears. Sure, she walked with confidence, head held high, her heels clipping on the pavement, but inside, she was a nervous wreck. Well, you would be too, right? If you were going to see your ex-boyfriend for the first time in 7 years. Especially since he's incredibly successful, and probably less dopey than he used to be in high school.

Quinn breezed into the small yet fancy bistro, sliding her aviators off as she looked round. Finn stood up, waving her over, his business suit crisp and creaseless. She forced a smile and walked over, trying to give off that famous 'I'm confident, beautiful, successful' vibe she usually did.

"Finn. Lovely to see you again." Quinn greeted him politely, fluttering her eyelashes at him as he pulled out her seat for her. Ever the gentleman.

"You too, Quinn. You look lovely."

"Why, thank you. You too. Your suits suit you better than your old polo shirts." She grinned, and he chuckled, turning briefly to the waiter to order some wine.

"How have you been?" He asked her, folding his hands in his lap and leaning backwards. She raised one eyebrow, as if to say 'Really?'.

"Well, I'm the founder and CEO of the biggest cosmetic brand in the world. I am adored by everyone, especially young girls dealing with self-loathing and insecurities. Oh! And I made my first million by the time I was 21. You do the math, Finn." Quinn boasted, shooting him a wry smile, her perfectly sculpted eyebrow still raised. Finn felt his mouth drop open and his eyebrows shot up.

"Wow," He chuckled nervously, regarding her carefully. "You've got a good life, Q." The mention of her old nickname made something snap inside of Quinn. Her head shot up from looking down at the menu and she fixed him with a death glare.

"_Q_," She started angrily. "Is in the past. It's _Quinn_. Or Miss Fabray. Whatever floats your boat." She damn near hissed and Finn raised both hands in surrender.  
"Sorry, sorry. I forgot you're a big shot now. But you're not the only one. I'm sure your little assistant told you I was an incredibly wealthy banker, and that I'm fighting girls off." He smirked at her, and Quinn's glare intensified. When did Finn get to be such a smart ass? He was never like that in high school. It was weird to see him so…patronizing. Like Quinn used to be. He obviously thought the roles had been reversed, but Quinn was about to prove him otherwise.

"She mentioned the banker part. Nothing about fighting off girls though, Finny." Quinn bit back, scowling at him.

"What's the matter, _Q_?" Finn emphasized the Q heavily, and Quinn watched as the letter rolled off his tongue easily. "Got your panties in a twist?" He leant forward on his forearms, watching for her reaction.

Quinn snarled at him, and flipped her hair back casually.

"Whatever, Hudson. Get the bill."

Finn narrowed his eyes in confusion, but did so anyway. Quinn stormed out, Finn striding behind her, still smiling like the cat that had got the cream. As soon as they were outside, Quinn whipped around, staring up at the tall man.

"I should hate you," Quinn glowered. "But you've never been so hot. I haven't had a good lay in a while, and I'm sure you think yourself a god in bed. Right?"

"Right. But I don't just think, I kn-"

"Shut up," She snapped, silencing him with one finger. "I don't want to listen to you gloating and going on and on about how great you are. Meet me tonight, at my apartment, and don't say a word. If you do, well, you won't get to tap this piece of ass like you've wanted to since we dated."

And with that, Quinn turned on her heel and sauntered away, leaving Finn in her wake. Just like she used to, in high school.

* * *

Santana settled on the same bench as last time, pulling her duffel coat even tighter around her. She shivered and clutched her hands together, cursing herself for forgetting her gloves.

"This seat taken?" There is was. The same light, angel-like voice from last time. Santana turned, smiled, and shook her head, patting the space next to her.

"Nope. Sit." She offered, watching as Quinn, once again, sat with all the grace of a prima ballerina. What Santana wouldn't do to have that amount of elegance and poise.

"So…you're back." Quinn started.

"As are you."

"I thought you said Central Park wasn't very inspiring." Quinn enquired, grinning at Santana.

"And I stick by that statement," Santana replied, feeling the corners of her mouth turn up. "However, the people are definitely not lacking in inspiration." Quinn laughed loudly, a real belly laugh, and Santana started as well. It was infectious, and it made Santana's heart soar.

"Thank you, thank you. Aren't you glad I came back then?" The blonde sat back and crossed her legs, smirking over at Santana, who chuckled.

"Damn right I am. All my inspiration has gone, completely, and my best friend, Rachel, made me come out and get inspired again. I thought it was a futile attempt, seeing as I didn't know if I was going to see you again. But…here you are. So, thank you. Now I can finally finish the second chapter."

"Second already? Wow." Quinn breathed, watching a couple walk past, hand in hand. She watched them till they were out of sight, and then she turned back to Santana.

"So, you write. Tell me more about yourself."

"Uh," Santana stammered. What did she say? Why was it whenever someone asked you about yourself, you forgot every damn detail about yourself? "I hate mushrooms." She blurted out, then mentally kicked herself for being such a dork.

"Well, I'll keep that in mind, Santana." Quinn giggled, a breathy, angel-like giggle, and Santana truly thought it the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.

Quinn glanced down at her watch and sighed. Time to get a move on back to the office, then to home to get dressed up for Finn.

"I had better go." She sighed, uncrossing her legs and standing up. She picked up her designer bag and slipped her sunglasses back on. She waved goodbye to Santana, but not before the brunette asked her the question that had been bugging her since they first met.

"Wait! Quinn…what's your last name?" Santana asked, scuffing her feet on the floor. Quinn thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully. She didn't want Santana to know who she really was. She missed the normality of just having a normal conversation with a normal person. She loved being Quinn Fabray, but she also hated it. People treated her different when they realized who she really was. Actually, she was surprised Santana hadn't twigged who she was yet. Obviously the girl wasn't a huge makeup fan.

"I think it's best if you didn't know." Quinn replied, nodding. Santana sighed, but also nodded, in understanding. The blonde waved again and walked off, leaving Santana in disappointment. But at least she had a shit load of inspiration for her book.

* * *

The buzzing sound that signaled someone wanted to come up to her apartment jolted Quinn out of her daydream. She gasped, quickly smoothed her hair, checked herself out in the mirror (spending a bit more money to get the more expensive set of underwear at Victoria's Secret was a good choice) before rushing downstairs.

"Come up, it's open." Quinn spoke into the intercom, pressing the button to let Finn in. Well, she hoped it was Finn, and not her parents. That would be way too embarrassing for words.

Finn had barely knocked before the door swung open to reveal a scantily clad Quinn Fabray, smirking at him in a way only a Fabray knows how. Finn gulped, before remembering he was Finn fucking Hudson, and immediately grabbed her, pulling her toward him. It didn't take long for them to get to the bed.

The next morning, with Finn snoring quietly beside her, Quinn realized something. She had conquered two goals: find a respectable man that fit her criteria, and have sex. Yes, Quinn Fabray was well and truly the boss.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey everyone! I finally got this chapter up! I was running low on inspiration, so I'm really sorry if this chapter is awful. Don't worry, it'll be more exciting soon, I promise! Thanks for all the reviews/follows/favourites! Oh, and I agree - I hate Finn in this verse too, but he's vital to the storyline, so he'll be back soon! Please review, I love feedback x**

* * *

"In celebration of you _finally _finishing the fifth chapter," Rachel announced in a singsong voice as she entered Santana's apartment (again; unannounced). "We are going to that cute little bistro, Milan's, that opened last month." Santana looked at incredulously, before snorting in derision.

"That's nice, Rach, except the water there costs the same as my electricity bill. Please, we couldn't even afford the leftovers."

Rachel sighed in annoyance and bounced down on the sofa, watching as Santana flipped casually through a magazine. Suddenly, the magazine was ripped from her hands and flung across the room. Santana glared at Rachel angrily, stabbing her in the stomach with her foot.

"I was _reading _that." She hissed, and Rachel rolled her eyes, repositioning herself so she was kneeling.

"You never let me finish, Santana. You completely jumped to conclusions, saying we couldn't afford it," Rachel stared at Santana with her magnificently big, brown eyes, which sparkled in the midday sun filtering in through the blinds. "You know how I've been going to a bunch of different auditions for different crappy roles in different crappy musicals?" Santana nodded, wondering where the hell this was going. "Well, I finally got a callback." Santana squealed with excitement, but Rachel held up a finger to silence her. "And that's not even the best part. I got callback to play…wait for it…Evita in my one of my favourite musicals of the same name, Evita!" Rachel squealed, her mouth upturned into a huge, sparkling grin. Santana also smiled, practically leaping on her best friend and embracing her tightly, her face smushed into her neck.

"I'm so proud of you, Rach!" Santana mumbled into Rachel's skin, and the shorter brunette squealed again, giving Santana one last squeeze before breaking away, the smile never faltering.

"I'm gonna go make reservations at Milan's, okay?" Rachel leapt off the sofa, skipping out of the living room to the kitchen, where the phone was located. Santana smiled proudly at her best friend's back, laying back on the sofa.

It had been a good week. Meeting Quinn, finishing the fifth chapter of her (still unnamed) novel and Rachel getting her dream part.

Hopefully her luck wouldn't change anytime soon.

* * *

"How was your date, Miss Fabray?" Stephanie asked politely, stumbling clumsily over her feet, which were way too big for her petite body. Quinn smirked knowingly and shrugged her jacket off, dumping it in Stephanie's arms.

"Good. Entertaining. Different," Quinn stated, before turning to her assistant with a mischievous look in her eye. "_Pleasurable_." Stephanie thought for a moment before nodding in understanding, her pale, freckled cheeks darkening in colour. She was such an innocent, virginal lamb, nothing like the seductress who was Quinn Fabray.

"So thank you, Stephanie. You actually did something right for once." The blonde smiled evilly and Stephanie gulped, biting back tears. She nodded once before rushing off, Quinn's coat clutched to her chest.

Quinn entered her spacious office and tottered over to her desk, careful not to trip in her painfully high heels. She sunk into the cushy office chair, sighing in relief as she slipped off her shoes. At least she looked good entering the building, even though she winced with every step. But at the price her shoes had been ($600!), she had to wear them to get her money's worth out of them.

She eyed the ever-present stack of paperwork, which was by now ready to topple over at any given second. She sighed and started, scribbling away, her legs swinging absentmindedly. Before she knew it, the stack of unfinished paperwork was nonexistent, and instead she had a new pile of _finished _sheets_. _She decided she'd get Stephanie to take them away to their respective locations. She sighed and looked down at her watch. Ten past 4. Seeing as all her work was done, and she hadn't had a break, she decided to leave early. If the office needed her urgently, they'd ring.

"I'm going. Call if you need me." Quinn yelled over her shoulder as she sauntered out her office. She swept up her coat from Stephanie's grasp and glided out, leaving her colleagues in her wake.

It's what she did best.

* * *

Rachel knocked impatiently on Santana's bathroom door.

"Hey! Lopez! We haven't got all night! If we're late, they'll give our table away!" Rachel was about to knock again when the taller brunette breezed out, smelling of Dot by Marc Jacobs – a Christmas present from Rachel.

"Hmm, you smell nice. You look great though!" Rachel exclaimed gleefully, clapping her hands in excitement. Her eyes ran up and down Santana, who was clad in a classy, yet short and rather tight, black dress, paired with black heels. She hadn't had a chance to dress up in what felt like years, so it was nice to get out of her usual joggers or jeans and jumpers combo.

"You too, Rach." Santana replied honestly, smiling warmly at her best friend. "Now, come on, little one!" She took Rachel's hand and tugged her out of her apartment, skipping in her heels (which proved a bit of a safety hazard when she nearly slipped).

They hailed a cab and drove to the bistro, both of them gabbling excitedly in the back. They hadn't been to a fancy restaurant in months, so it was a nice treat, for the both of them. Also, they weren't going for no reason; they were celebrating, which made them even happier.

They stepped out together into the cold night air, and Santana tugged her jacket a little tighter round her. However, the cold was soon replaced by the warmth and coziness of the bistro. Rachel squealed with delight and joyfully went over to the desk. Santana took a little longer, looking around and taking in the amazing smells, sights and how _classy _everyone looked. She felt sort of out of place, but she couldn't really care.

"Here's your table, ladies." The waiter flourished them over to a small-ish table situated in the middle. Rachel flashed him a grin, batting her eyelids.

"Thank you." She purred, and Santana was shocked. She had never heard Rachel Berry be so…seductive. She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and sat down, slipping her jacket off, which the waiter took, along with Rachel's. Santana noticed the waiter's fingers lingered a little too long on Rachel's hand as he swept the coats away, and she smirked. Rachel deserved a hot guy who made her feel special.

"Oh my sweet Barbra." Rachel gasped, and Santana raised her eyebrows in confusion. The shorter girl pointed to something behind her, so she whipped around, wondering what all the fuss was about.

And there, at the table just a few tables down from them, was Quinn. _Her _Quinn.

"It's Quinn Fabray." Rachel breathed, her eyes wide. "I'm wearing her blusher from her best selling collection, Dainty. It's…Oh, gosh, what colour is it? Innocence! That's it! Oh, sweet Barbra, she's so pretty in real life too!" Rachel babbled on, whilst Santana watched the blonde intently. So that's what Quinn's last name was. Fabray. Now she knew it, she was kicking herself. Sure, she wasn't a huge makeup lover, but Quinn's face had been plastered across magazine after magazine, newspaper after newspaper, and news site after news site. Santana could understand why Quinn was so reluctant to tell her surname. After all, she was sure the blonde was sick of being fangirling over her and asking for a picture or autograph. Santana knew she would be, if she were famous.

Santana turned back, watching in amusement as Rachel bounced up and down in her seat with excitement, clutching a napkin and Sharpie.

"Where the fuck did you find that Sharpie?"

"I always keep one in my handbag, because you never know whether A) you see a celebrity or B) someone asks for your autograph and they don't have a pen." Rachel shrugged casually, peering over at Quinn, who was oblivious to the hyperactive brunette who was ready to burst with exhilaration.

"I've got to go over!" Rachel gushed, and before Santana could stop her, the short diva was out of her seat and rushing across the restaurant, napkin and hot pink Sharpie in hand. Santana groaned and sat forward, hoping Quinn didn't notice her. She didn't want their budding friendship (if you could call two acquaintances in the park a friendship) to sour. Not just yet, anyway. Quinn seemed an interesting person, and she was her muse for her novel. If she lost Quinn, she'd lose her inspiration.

* * *

Quinn took her place at the table, smiling up at the polite waiter. She sighed and opened her menu, elbows resting on the table. When she got home, she decided to treat herself, seeing as she _had _shown Finn Hudson she was still boss, and she _had _finished that mountain of paperwork. So, she booked a table for one at Milan's. Although, at first, they didn't realize who was calling and insisted all the tables were booked, but as soon as she mentioned her name, well, she suddenly had free reign of the restaurant.

Suddenly, Quinn realized she wasn't alone. She looked up and was met with sight of a very eager, very _short _young brunette, who was wielding a napkin and a Sharpie. Her manic grin sort of creeped Quinn out.

"Can I help you?" Quinn asked uncertainly, placing her menu down. There goes her quiet night out.

"Yes. Please. My name is Rachel Berry and I'm soon to become a familiar face in the acting world. I want to be a famous Broadway starlet and I'm already on my way up. Anyway, as I'm destined to be a star, I have to make sure I'm always paparazzi ready, which is why I choose to wear your makeup because, even though it's a punch in the guts to my bank balance, it's always very good quality. So…" Rachel stuck the napkin and pen out. "Could I have your autograph?" Quinn nodded slowly and took the napkin and pen. She signed it quickly. _To Rachel Berry, good luck in life! Love, Quinn Fabray _was soon scrawled across the paper in hot pink letters. Rachel beamed one last time before scurrying off. Quinn watched as she went, and she noticed Rachel wasn't alone. There was another brunette sat at her table, taller, her skin more tanned. Wait. Quinn furrowed her eyebrows. Was that…? Santana? She hoped not. If it were, she wasn't sure she'd be able to see Santana again. God, she loved her life, she did, but she hated over-enthusiastic fans _so damn much_. If Santana turned out to be one…No. Santana seemed so much more intelligent than that. And although she was a pretty girl, the two times Quinn had seen her, she had never seen a scrap of makeup on her, so it didn't seem like she was into makeup that much. She shrugged and went back to scouring the menu.

Nothing, not even Santana finding out her surname, was going to stop her from enjoying her night out.


End file.
